


Omissions & Admissions

by C_AND_B



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 11:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7843360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/C_AND_B/pseuds/C_AND_B
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Octavia makes Clarke promise not to sleep with Lexa except it's maybe, kinda, too late to stop that train (or, Clexa continuously lie about not having sex, whilst definitely having sex).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Omissions & Admissions

She's pretty. Infuriatingly pretty. She's the kind of pretty that Romance writers produced sonnet upon sonnet about just because she passed them in a market on some, otherwise meagre and dismal, Thursday. She's the kind of pretty that Shakespeare found too beautiful to compare to a summers day, the kind of pretty that could make Owen find a slither of hope even where there was none. She's the kind of pretty that made you believe that god had to be real, and existence had to have a purpose, because that was the only explanation as to why the two of you somehow managed to exist in the safe lifetime, in the same town, in the same circles of people.

She's also unfairly smart, and oddly charming, and funny in a kind of deadpan way that you knew everyone else saw as an apathy for human interaction, but that you knew was nothing more than a manifestation of introverted sarcasm.

You’re maybe slightly addicted to the way words fall from her mouth, perfectly packaged by her quick tongue and pouted lips. You’re even more addicted to the less than subtle smirk that graces the aforementioned mouth when she catches your eye over the shoulder of some dude you honestly couldn’t care less about in that moment.

She's everything you want and you should go say hi. You should just pull out some of the old Griffin charm and kiss her. You should just have some guts and tell her that her beauty makes you nervous. You want to. You don't know why you're not.

"You promised, Clarke." Oh, that's why. You shouldn’t know so much about the stoic brunette next to the temporary bar/permanent kitchen counter. You shouldn’t know anything about a random girl you simply spotted from across a room. The answer to why you do lays in the fact that, whilst she is a girl you spotted from across the room, that room actually happened to be your office when she introduced herself as the new lawyer appointed to the science division of TriKru Inc.

That spot happened four months ago in a meeting that had tensions rising high enough for you to forget your inhibitions, and have Lexa pinned against your office door, fully exercising her right to freedom of speech. But the two of you hadn't told anyone because a casual hook up didn't seem like something you shared, except then it was more (or, well, you think it’s more – correction, you _hope_ it’s more).

The issue being that by the time you realised you wanted more, Octavia had already started dating Lexa’s brother Lincoln and exclaimed that she was off limits, which leaves you here, trying to pretend that you aren’t pining from across the room whilst _definitively_ pining from across the room.

“Promise what?” Contesting it straight away would be to admit that there was reason to place suspicion because you knew what she was referring to. Instead you throw Octavia a quizzical look, and chance a small sip of whatever beverage it was that Raven had thrust in your hands before disappearing to get into some kind of trouble (to hit on Anya).

“You know what I’m talking about.” You roll your eyes because, come on, you’re not that much of an insatiable player. Obviously, yes, in this case you were lying and you were, in fact, having secret and incredible sex with Lexa but that wasn’t the point. The point was that you weren’t some sex fiend roaming the bars at night for impressionable young men and women, but that was apparently how Octavia had chosen to view you when it came to Lexa.

“I honestly don’t, O.”

“You promised you wouldn’t hook up with Lexa.” That is true. Another thing that is true is that you had your fingers crossed behind your back when you promised said thing (if Octavia was going to be childish about this it, then you bet your fine ass you were going to be childish about it too).

“Do I look like I’m hooking up with Lexa?” You sigh, rather convincingly might you just add. Octavia sighs in kind with a slump to her shoulders that almost makes you think this conversation could end there. Evidently you should learn to never get comfortable because Raven decides to make her presence incredibly well known in that moment.

“You look like you’re measuring the space between her thighs from across the room.” And just like that everyone’s defences went straight back up. Fantastic. Also fantastic - the soft smile Lexa shot your way as she realised you were getting the third degree. Less fantastic was the way your pulse quickened at the sight because you weren’t just _hooking up_ , you were damn near infatuated with some stupid nerd that you promised your best friend you wouldn’t be.

“Thank you for that assessment Raven but I wasn’t, and we’re not, and I haven’t broken any promises regardless of whether or not I think they’re stupid and perhaps even a little insulting.” When in doubt, play the guilt card. Always play the guilt card, unless you have the naked card, in which case, always play the naked card.

“I’m sorry, Clarke. It’s just that Lincoln said Lexa was kind of a player and you’re you, a beautiful single girl who isn’t afraid of some light-hearted fun, and I just don’t want to risk ruining what me and him have because something goes wrong and we have to pick sides.”

“But you love the whole star-crossed Romeo and Juliet thing,” you quip to an unreceptive audience.

“You have nothing to worry about.” You add softly because what else are you to do when she’s pouting like a god damn puppy, and Raven is watching you like she knows all of your dirty little secrets (she mostly does).

“Say it.” Not again.

“What is this? Twilight?”

“Clarke.” Fuck.

“I promise I won’t hook up with Lexa.”

* * *

 

“Doing the walk of shame?” If you’d been in anyone else’s bed you would have been startled. If you’d awoken in any other room, and quietly collected up your clothes, you know you would have jumped at the sound of a voice.

Not this room though.

Not this bed.

You don’t startle with Lexa because you were acutely aware she was watching you from the moment you lifted the sheets from your hips. She didn’t leer or ogle, she simply examined the way you collected yourself in the morning light with a piercing stare and a soft smile (a smile that you know is only ever soft for you, a smile that you know only ever exists for you).

You’re also acutely aware that you’ve already broken the promise you made Octavia. Honestly, you had mentally broken it the moment the words spilled from your mouth - you physically broke it about two hours after that.

“No, this is the got laid parade because you’re really very pretty but we shouldn’t have done this. Again.” You don’t sound convincing. Even you can hear the resignation in your tone, resignation that this will inevitably happen again, resignation that you can’t even convince yourself that this is a bad idea.

This seems like an amazing idea to you, especially when Lexa shifts to your side of the bed in order to run a soothing palm down your spine. It seems like the best idea you’ve ever had when she pries your clothes from cooperative hands and rewards you with a soft kiss to your spine.

You want to fall into her comfort head first. You want to collapse into nimble hands and whispered words. You want to tremble in sure embraces and wandering teeth. You want to let yourself feel the things you’ve been letting trickle into an already overflowing sink.

“Give me one good reason that we shouldn’t.”

You can’t.

No reason seems good enough.

“Octavia.” Her scoff echoes the one sounding in your own mind and it’s blatant that neither of you believe for a second that you’re actually going to let Octavia stop you when all it takes for you to fall back into Lexa’s bed, and her arms, is a gentle coax and a well timed kiss.

You can practically hear her smiling at what she assumes is a win on her behalf. Honestly you can’t even think to consider it a loss as you let the beat of her heart beneath your head lull you into a fake sense of security, like everything will actually be alright, as long as she keeps combing your hair through her fingers.

“That’s a terrible reason.”

“You’re Lincoln’s sister and she evoked girl code because if anything went wrong she doesn’t want to have to pick sides.” She scoffs again like it’s the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard, and you know that’s an incredible achievement considering Jasper made her listen to his extensive list of terrible business ideas.

“OK, but that assumes two things that I would like to contest.” The chuckle that slips from your lips is instantaneous, as instantaneous as the kiss that she presses to your forehead in response.

It’s a practised routine, one that gradually built when feelings evolved from ignored caterpillars to indulged butterflies. The first time you awoke in Lexa’s bed you hadn’t planned to fall asleep (you also didn’t plan to have sex with her in the first place, but you were only human). You had slipped away quietly, masking each hurried footstep beneath an almost snore.

The second time, when you tried to do the same, you found that her arms were a cage you rather enjoyed being trapped in - though not as much as you enjoyed the smiley face pancakes she made you when she realised with a smile that you actually stayed.

Then there was a third and fourth and then you stopped pretending it wasn’t a thing.

You stopped pretending that the two of you weren’t a thing because you certainly weren’t having the thing with someone else. So now it’s a thing. It’s a thing that you like more than any other thing you’ve experienced in your life, but you don’t say that aloud because even your internal monologue sounds like the ramblings of an sixth grader experiencing their first crush.

 “Firstly, I argue that nothing can go wrong here. Exhibit A we’ve been doing this for four months and personally I think we’re pretty happy, which actually brings me to my second point. Octavia and Lincoln have only been dating for three months and thus the only one who should be evoking girl code is you.” How are you supposed to give this adorable idiot up? You watched her make a grown man cry in a boardroom last week, only to then find she’d left a new scarf on your desk because it was starting to get colder, and she didn’t want you to get sick.

Lexa was an enigma that you were willing to spend your whole life figuring out.

“You put some thought into that.”

“I did because this makes sense, Clarke. We make sense.” You know she means more. You can see it in her eyes and feel it in her hands and taste it on her lips. You know this is more than fooling around or even casual dating. “And in any case, I have proof that our relationship predates theirs.”

“Oh yeah?” She grabs her phone off the nightstand with practised ease, pulling open a chat with Anya and beginning to scroll as she motions for you to be patient. You laugh at the stray pieces of conversations you become privy to, which mostly consist of Anya mocking Lexa about you and then Lexa ripping into Anya about her crush on Raven in response (you may have to casually let slip to Raven that her infatuation isn’t as one sided as it seems).

“Ah, here we go. April 7th, at 11AM from Anya – _have you and blondie stopped banging yet because I know I said I like music when I work but **Requiem for a Scream** wasn’t what I had in mind_. And then there are some even more suggestive ones.” You’re not even a little surprised.

“We’re doing it together.”

“I know Clarke I was there,” she jokes, feigning pain when your immediate response is to slap her chest.

“Shut up. I mean we’re telling them together.”

“Fine with me.”

“When we tell them, how exactly are we labelling this?” It probably isn’t the time for this chat. You should probably save the ‘ _what are we doing conversation?’_ for a time when you’re both clothed, and thinking straight, i.e. when you’re not naked and talking in detail about Octavia because that isn’t exactly what you want to think about when naked.

“Girlfriends?” You feel her shoulder shrug against your head as she tries to act casual about the question, but you don’t miss the quiver in her tone or the nervously uncertain goosebumps that erupt across her bare stomach.

“I could do that.” You try for nonchalant.

“Cool.” She matches it.

“Cool.” The way she kisses you makes you think you can actually do this. The two of you can tell Octavia and she can’t be mad because you were together first - except for the fact that you’ve been lying to her over and over again for the past four months.

But you can do this.

_You can do this._

* * *

 

You can’t do this.

You can’t sit in this stupid restaurant, eating stupid food, and look at her stupidly perfect face from across the table and not kiss her. But you have to do this. You have to do this because it’s Octavia’s birthday and you still haven’t found the right time to tell her the truth and so you can’t.

You really, _really_ want to.

You still can’t.

Except...

“Excuse me; I have to use the bathroom.” You honestly try to be casual about it. In reality you’re really not that casual about it. That is to say that the words come out as rather unaffected but you’re gazing rather pointedly at Lexa when they come out.

You somehow can’t quite bring yourself to care, however, because she’s wearing her work glasses because she ran out of contacts, and every time you meet her eyes it seems like her gaze is equal parts ‘ _gosh you’re beautiful’_ and _‘come hither’,_ and you just want to kiss her in some dirty bathroom for far longer than you logically should.

“Me too,” Lexa comments easily. _Thank God._

You resist the urge to look back and double check she’s following as you make your exit. It’s not so hard when you imagine looking back could mean catching Octavia’s disapproving gaze, because the two of you aren’t even able to wash hands side by side without making out in her eyes (you’d probably be more offended if you weren’t going to do that exact thing).

It’s reckless. The two of you are kissing before the door has even fully closed behind you and it’s reckless. There’s no lock, no privacy, no definite promise that Octavia won’t walk in at any moment and discover your secret and it’s _so ridiculously reckless_ , but you will legally change your middle name to Reckless if it means you don’t have to stop kissing her any time soon.

Lexa’s kisses are all consuming. Her kisses aren’t light showers. Her kisses are deluges, monsoons, tornados crashing their way through your lungs and your veins and your heart. The first time you kissed her was in anger. She was all teeth and nails and purposeful tugs. The second time you kissed her was in curiosity. She was all tongue and fingertips and lingering lips. The third was desire. The fourth, addiction. The fifth, something far more than you cared to admit.

This kiss. The kiss without an intelligible number was relief. It was like that first clear inhale after a cold, like stepping into a warm bath after freezing your ass off outside, like coming home after a bad day and having someone you love wrap their arms around you without question.

Logically you know that you shouldn’t be putting so much emotion into a kiss that’s happening out of desperation, and next to a stall that someone most definitely did their business in not long before you entered, or maybe that’s exactly why you should be. At least, as she pulls back to catch your gaze with a small smile, you know that she’s doing the same thing too.

It’s comforting and it also makes you question why you’re still not kissing the weirdly perfect woman in front of you. You kiss her harder, smiling momentarily at the moan you pull from her throat as you slam her against the wall, too engaged in making her do it again to fully bask in the sound of it.

You should probably cool it. You have no idea how long you’ve been away from your friends, and her hands are wandering dangerously close to forbidden territory, and you’re far too close to saying _screw it_ to make logical decisions, and the bathroom door is opening, and you’re far too involved to acknowledge it, and-

“Oh thank God, Griff, pretending not to know has been tiring.” _Shit. Shit, shit, shit._

“You can’t tell, O,” slips from your mouth in a rush as you quickly extract yourself from Lexa. You want to indulge yourself and watch the way she slips back into the character she plays so well in front of others, but you don’t dare look away from the girl in front of you. You’re nervous because this could be the end, except Raven is just rolling her eyes and scoffing incredulously like you’ve just told her water is wet.

“I’ve been lying to that girl for months, I’m not gonna go blabbing and incriminate myself now.” OK, that’s a relief, she- _wait._

“You knew?!”

“We live next door to each other, Clarke, apartment walls aren’t exactly thick and the two of you together aren’t exactly quiet.” You can definitely attest to that. You can quite vividly recall the Wick Summer of ’14 - he was a douche but apparently a very talented one.

“My mother always did say my tongue would get me into trouble,” Lexa comments and you can’t help but laugh because of course this is the moment that she decides to start making jokes. Although, maybe you’re not giving her ability to trick people onto her side enough credit because she quickly receives an appraising look from Raven and a swift high five.

“You know your my number one, Griff, so I’ll keep you’re secret but you really should tell O before she finds out on her own and goes on an SBR.” SBR, also known as, Stubborn Broody Rampage - a term coined by you and Raven specifically for one Octavia Blake.

It came to be a thing a few years back when Raven borrowed a shirt without telling and maybe spilt some sauce on it. Long story short - the shirt was not salvageable and O didn’t talk directly to Raven for two weeks but constantly made some snarky remark or another. Truthfully, it never seems like a lot at first but she keeps it going just long enough that you feel like the worst person in the world.

“I know,” you sigh.

“Also now that you know I know, I’m gonna have a field day with this.” Her smirk is not at all comforting. It is, in fact, the least comforting thing you’ve ever experienced in your life, and you once had a professor stroke your hair like a cat in college when you had a semi-breakdown.

“I know,” you repeat.

You really should have just come clean.

* * *

 

This was a terrible plan.

This was terrible plan that resulted in something that bears far too much resemblance to a double date. It’s just Lex, O, Linc and you and you’re playing board games for pity’s sake. You’re even teamed up with Lexa like that’s the regular.

It’s weird.

You think it’s weird.

Lexa thinks it’s weird too if the constant look of disbelief and confusion on her face is anything to go by. Lincoln doesn’t seem to be faring much better in discerning how the situation at hand came about. It’s only Octavia who seems to be valiantly ignoring the turn of events and you’re so impressed that you begin to think maybe that’s even weirder.

But even in spite of Octavia’s attempts, _it is_ weird because Raven purposely cancelled at the last minute after lecturing you about how now was the time and to _‘stop being a chicken shit and woman up’._

Raven’s right though. She’s an annoying asshole but she’s right. You shouldn’t be playing Pictionary and eating chips, you should be telling Octavia and bracing yourself for the epic chew out she’s going to give you for falling in love.

_Love._

You’re in love with Lexa and you can’t even express that openly because you’re pretending to not even vaguely know her beyond crossing paths at parties and work. You’re in love with the way her nose scrunches when she tries and fails to draw. You’re in love with her understated laugh. You’re in love with her unsmiling smile. You’re in love with the way she winks at you as she slaps Lincoln upside the head. You’re in love with her hands, and her eyes, and her lips, and her torso, and all of her limbs.

You’re in love with her.

You want to tell her you’re in love with her.

You want to tell everyone that you’re in love with her.

Instead you sit in silence and laugh as Octavia gravely misunderstands Lincoln’s drawings. Instead you kick their collective ass at Pictionary and play off your dynamic as nothing but intellectual compatibility and a shared fondness for the same things. You almost get away with it. Well, you almost think you get away with it. You kind of still do get away with it considering the person who questions it is Lincoln, and he has the good sense to not say anything until Octavia is out of the room.

“You’re together.” He states the moment his girlfriend disappears.

“Pfft. No, we’re not.” It’s not convincing. You are not convincing at all. You’re so unconvincing that you actually feel Lexa shake with controlled laughter at your side for a moment before she composes herself. You really should have been more prepared for this eventuality. You were probably unintentionally shooting heart eyes at her when she did that bounce jump _‘you got it’_ thing and you know she was sending them your way when you did your ridiculous dad dance celebration.

“I’m not an idiot, Clarke. Lexa looks at you the way she used to look at her secret cookie stash when we were kids.” You raise your brows in her direction in obvious question, to which she merely shrugs her shoulders and a smirks.

“What can I say - I was never very good at keeping my hands out of the cookie jar.” Lexa really doesn’t know when to make jokes. This, for example, definitely not a time to make jokes, especially not ones that you really want to laugh at, because it’s such a Lexa thing to do, to make a joke that she would never usually make at the most inappropriate time.

“You have to tell her.” What you want to say – _no shit, Sherlock._

What you actually say - “We’re trying.”

“How long?” Too long.

“A little over four months.” You repeat - too long. You’ve been hiding it for longer than Kim Kardashian was married to Chris Humphries. You’ve been hiding it for longer than the duration of the Great Emu War. You’ve been hiding it for longer than you had even managed to date anyone else ever. Once again - too long.

“And you haven’t told her?”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, Lincoln, your girlfriend is being completely irrational about this whole ordeal, so can you really blame Clarke for trying to push back the timeline on the crazy tantrum that is sure to occur the moment we utter the words _hey Octavia, Clarke and I had sex before you even knew my brother existed so sorry, I guess, but breaking up isn’t an option.”_

“You’re hooking up?!” Fuck. Fuck your life times infinity. Fuck your life to the moon and back. Fuck your life more than the time you and Raven got caught smoking pot by your mother in senior year.

“Called it.” Lexa mumbles. Step one - punch Lexa in the arm for that truly helpful comment. Step two – damage control, damage control, damage control.

“Octavia, it’s not-“

“You haven’t been lying to me for months?”

“Well yes, but also no because you told me not to hook up with her and technically we had already hooked up and were then just, you know, dating. It was more like an omission.” Probably not the best defence technique. Her glare intensifies. Definitely not the best defence technique.

“It sure seems like a lie to me, Clarke.”

“Octavia-“

“No, Clarke. You promised and you lied and you’re my best friend. I can’t believe-“Lexa stands abruptly. You think it’s the shock that actually makes Octavia snap her jaw shut. Well, the shock or the succinct way she lifts her hand in a gesture of silence.

Or maybe it’s the stare.

The stare being the exact one dubbed as the _Commander stare_ by Jeremy from work who you’re fairly sure actually wet his pants the last time it was aimed at him. The same stare that made you want to sleep with her in the first place. The same stare that is half enticing jaw clench and half eyes burning with the fire of a thousand suns.

“I can’t believe that you made your _best friend_ feel so shitty about finding someone who loves her that she didn’t feel like she could tell you. I can’t believe that you’re trying to take the high ground when you, as Clarke would phrase it, ‘lowkey slut shamed’ her for months. I can’t believe I told Lincoln that I didn’t dislike you a few days ago because I’m feeling like quite a liar right now and I hear you really take a stand against that.” She’s sticking up for you. She’s using her dangerous tone and doing her unflinching stare and she’s doing it all for you. She’s sticking up for you because she...

Lexa lo...

“You love her?” OK, so you’re not the only one who heard that. Good. _What?_

“You love me?” You repeat because she doesn’t look like she’s going to reply to Octavia. She doesn’t look like she’s going to do much besides stare blankly ahead until you speak and she suddenly zones back into the real world.

“I love you.” Unwavering statement.

“You love me?” Emotionally wavering question.

“I already answered that.”

“I just feel like maybe I need to perhaps hear that answer again. To be sure.” She smiles and then she’s right there, answering your question with warm palms on your jaw, with soft fingertips meandering over your cheeks, with a steady press of her forehead against your own.

“Clarke Griffin, I’m in love with you.” With words. The actual words.

“Okay, good. I got it that time.”

“I’m glad,” she chuckles.

“I’m in love with you too,” you say, just in case she hadn’t picked up on it yet and because you just really want to say it. Saying it feels amazing. Realising it was nice but actually saying it aloud is amazing - the best thing you’ve ever done and you once beat a high (and incredibly hungry) Jasper in a hotdog eating competition.

“I’m glad.” You kiss her because you can. You kiss her because you want to. You kiss her because you love her. You kiss her because Octavia knows, and she’s gaping from the sidelines, but you don’t care because she looks happy for you, and angry with herself, and honestly this couldn’t have worked out better for you.

“You already said that.”

“Sorry, I thought it was national repetition day.” You kiss her again because if you could repeat one thing for the rest of your life it would be the press of your lips against Lexa’s.

Without a question.

Always.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry about the disappearance, got a little blocked. Thankfully a little birdie popped into my inbox the other day to give me a boost so this one's for racoonhearteyes (I hope it wasn't shit).


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